Five Seconds in Your Heart
by cults
Summary: Cartman is more of a loser in high school than he'd counted on. And he's not sure if things are getting better or worse once he takes on a job that inevitably leads to spending more time with Kyle, the childhood rival he'd been forgetting about lately. Kyman.
1. Chapter 1

**_Five Seconds in Your Heart:_****Chapter 1**

Cartman grumbled as he leaned over one of a number of large plastic crates in the drama club's closet. His patience was waning. This was the _third_ box he'd opened that didn't have a single costume in it. And this was _not _the star-bright junior year he'd imagined for himself.

"I can see your ass-crack," Kenny smirked.

"Shut up, Kenny," Cartman snapped, reaching back to yank up his pants while his face reddened. After he felt them sagging down again, and heard Kenny's barely-muffled snickering along with it, he spun around again in embarrassment.

"Don't you have some rocking chair to whittle or something, jackass?" he snarled. Kenny pretended to look offended.

"Don't stereotype. You know I'm doing make-up!" Kenny whipped out the make-up bag he'd brought from home, complete with brushes and remover. There was even faux leopard fur decorating the sides. Cartman glanced over it, unimpressed.

"Very funny. Like you're gonna spill your cross-dressing fetish without putting up a fight. The girls already think you're creepy as hell."

"Hey, I'll tell them it's my sisters or my mom's or some shit." Kenny cradled his bag like a baby. "Whatever. I like make-up. And just 'cause you hate yourself for keeping sundresses in the darkest part of your closet doesn't mean I have to hate myself for doing the same."

"Whatever. Where the fuck is Butters? Isn't that shit-eater stage manager this year?"

"Yeah, that's right," Kenny snorted. "Still won't do acting, even though you _know_ it's what he stays up at night thinking about."

"Good," Cartman said, "I hope he sticks with the sets, 'cause his acting is fucking awful. If I get stuck with him as lead next year I am not gonna be happy."

Kenny barked out a laugh.

"Still telling yourself you're gonna be club president? Give it up, the vice prez this year, that junior with the funky hair, is gonna be president for sure. It's all seniority, and you don't have jack shit to stand on, considering you've never actually been in a play. Not to mention you nearly killed Clyde when you 'accidentally' gave him food poisoning, which is why they're sticking you with costumes this year and not on cast."

"Oh, come on," Cartman rolled his eyes. "I was his understudy, how else was I s'pose to get on stage?"

"He didn't even have a leading role."

"Whatever. I just needed to get my feet wet, is all. I wasn't asking much."

"They gave you a shit part 'cause you're a shit actor. Not much better than Butters here, are ya?"

Butters, who had popped up as if on cue wearing an oversized tool belt, laughed hesitantly as Kenny wrapped an arm around his neck and gave him a noogie. Despite Kenny being unusually short and scrawny (like a starving rat, Cartman liked to say), Butters remained shorter still. This seemed to give Kenny an impulsive need to tease him. Luckily, Butters still held Kenny in high regard, for whatever reason, and the two generally got along and were friendly.

"Well, h-hey there, Kenny," Butters struggled to get out of Kenny's hold. "S-so did you ever find that screwdriver I was asking about, fellas?"

Kenny gestured over to Cartman, who scowled. He'd completely forgotten to check for it.

"It's gone forever," Cartman snarled. "Go buy another."

Butters' face fell.

"Aw, geeze, Eric," Butters said, sounding worried. "You know I don't got a car or nothing."

"Then I guess you'd better start walking, Butters," Cartman said, inspecting his nails. "It'd be shame if the club president heard about how _you _lost the screwdriver."

"Oh, Jesus!" Butters said, glancing from Cartman to Kenny, who had a hand over his mouth to hide his smile.

"Oh, yes, yes," Kenny said, clearing his throat and attempting to keep himself together. "It's all very serious."

"O-ok fellas, I'll go get right on that." With new resolve, Butters marched off to get to the nearest hardware store, only god knows how.

"I hope he's not actually planning to walk there," Kenny said, almost in disbelief. "Butters is the realest dude I know. Don't you ever feel bad for giving him so much shit?"

"You give him just as much shit as I do, if not more," called Cartman from the drama closet. He'd retreated there to dig around the boxes again. He might as well get a head start on all this costume shit so he could move on to bigger, better things. Things worthy of him, in other words.

"True," Kenny agreed. "At least I'm actually fond of the guy. You just sound fed-up with him most of the time." He strolled into the closet behind Cartman.

"Uh, that's cause I totally am. _Shit_." Cartman swore as he banged his head on a low-hanging shelf, but managed to emerge with a half-decent costume this time.

"Yeah, right," Kenny said. "If Butters wasn't around you'd have no one to talk about your weird _Dancing With The Stars_ obsession with." Kenny laughed as Cartman chased him out of the closet, costume in hand. Cartman, predictably, quickly gave up.

"Aw, you're no fun," Kenny laughed, jogging in place.

"Okay," Cartman wheezed, "first off, it's not an obsession. And second, it's _not _weird." Cartman raised his nose slightly higher into the air. "I'll have you know that millions of people enjoy _Dancing With The Stars_ every week."

"Yeah, all of them high school boys just like you!" Kenny said with an overabundance of fake enthusiasm.

"You asshole," Cartman said. He made another lunge for Kenny but was easily evaded. Instead, Cartman stumbled forwards, just in time for the door to the auditorium to open right into his face. He fell back on his ass and immediately brought a hand up to his nose as it started to sting.

"Oh my god, I'm sorry!"

Cartman opened his eyes to see Kyle momentarily poised above him, about to offer to help him up.

"Oh, it's just Cartman." Kyle withdrew his hand and Cartman frowned at him.

"Nice to see you too, Jew."

"Another Jew comment. Original," Kyle said dryly.

Cartman got back on his feet and brushed off his pants. Kenny popped up behind him.

"Sup, Ky?" Kenny and Kyle high-fived casually.

"Not much. I just came here to chew out this asshole," Kyle jerked a thumb over at Cartman, who still looked quite unhappy, "for telling Butters to _walk_ to the nearest hardware store?"

"Yeah, so?" Cartman said flippantly.

"So, the closest one's in North Park."

"And?"

"And that's _how many _miles away?"

"You care about him so much, you drive him there. I've got actually important stuff to do," Cartman sneered.

"Like what, try on that costume?" Kenny laughed, gesturing to what was in Cartman's hands. Kyle stifled a laugh as well, in spite of his serious attitude. Cartman reddened.

The costume was a red dress, obviously meant to fit a feminine build by the shape of it. Simple and classy in design, Cartman had thought it would look good with an extravagant necklace or sleek heels. Now, remembering his own bulk, he was embarrassed to have even entertained the idea. Not that he would admit it.

"You're the only one it'd fit, shrimp," Cartman said defensively. "What're you, like, 5'3" now?"

"5'4"," Kenny said proudly, "and counting."

"Okay," Kyle butted in, trying not to smile so widely, and turned to wag a finger at Cartman. "But seriously. Don't be an ass to Butters."

"You just come in here to drama club, my turf," Cartman bemoaned, "and start telling me how to live my life? What're you even doing here? Don't tell me you marched all the way over here just to drive a stick up my ass about Butters."

"I came here to see you, actually, fat-ass, and to ask you something."

Cartman's ears perked up, and he grinned mischievously.

"Kyle, are you about to willfully indebt yourself to me?" Cartman batted his lashes. "Thank you so much for brightening my day, seriously."

"In your dreams, dude," Kyle sighed. "I don't care whether you follow through with it, but my mom asked me to ask you, so whatever. Ike needs a piano teacher, and she said she'd pay you $20 an hour." Kyle scratched the back of his head. "Not that I actually want you in my house more than absolutely necessary."

"$20? That ain't much," Cartman said, hmm-ing and haw-ing over the offer. "Can she hike it up to $50? To include damages to my own safety and wellbeing after being in a Jewish household for more than five minutes at a time." He smirked playfully, pleased with himself as Kyle went off on a rant.

"Oh, shut up, jackass. You're lucky she hasn't heard your anti-Semitic ass at work lately or else there's no way she'd offer you a job. Forget I fucking said anything. You'd be a bad influence on Ike, anyways."

Kyle stomped off, leaving Cartman to look over his dress once again. Kenny whistled lowly.

"$20 an hour, huh? That's not bad money. Some extra cash here and there couldn't hurt, y'know? Maybe I should teach the kid."

"Right," Cartman laughed, "I forgot about your awesome piano skills."

"You're not actually gonna turn that down, are you?" Kenny asked, looking at Cartman curiously. "Just think of all the ways you could ruffle Kyle's feathers with that gig."

"Hmm," Cartman said, mulling it over. "You're right about that."

"You could fuck with all his shit if he's not home. Steal his socks or whatever you jack off to in your weirdo fantasies."

"Oh, fucking sick, Kenny. Gross." Cartman made a face and pretended to puke. "Fucking gag me, seriously."

"Whatever, dude," Kenny said condescendingly. "It was only a joke."

Cartman glared at him and stomped back to the drama closet, where he laid the red dress on top of a cardboard box carefully, and then closed and locked the door. On second thought, fuck costumes. He was not going to deal with that hellhole of a closet right now, anyways.

"Let's go get McDonald's or something," Cartman muttered.

"Right on!" Kenny said, rubbing his hands together. "Hey, smoke a joint on the way there?"

"Not a chance," Cartman said. "My car is not getting hotboxed again. It smelt like weed forever. And besides, hotboxing makes me paranoid."

"Ok, new plan. Grab the Mickey D's, light up in my room. Deal?"

"As long as the mice at your place don't attack us as soon as we show up with a hot meal."

"Right," Kenny rolled his eyes, "I'll keep a leash on 'em."

The two gathered their things and strolled out into the high school parking lot, meandering this way and that before finally climbing into Cartman's old station wagon and speeding to the closest strip mall. On the drive back to Kenny's house, with a warm bag of fast food in his lap, Cartman thoughtfully tapped out the piano keys for _Gymnopedie_ on his dashboard.

* * *

**A/N: I've been staying up really late recently. By the time I get to bed, the birds are already chirping. What a pain in the ass. Anyway, hope you enjoyed it. Let me know what you thought.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Five Seconds in Your Heart: Chapter 2**

Cartman stared at himself in the mirror and gently tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. It bounced back out of place almost immediately. He groaned in annoyance and dragged his hands over his face. What was he getting so worked up about anyway? It wasn't like Mrs. Broflovski was going to take one look at his fat-ass and shove him out the door after practically begging him to accept the job offer on the phone yesterday. Sighing heavily, he nonetheless glanced at his reflection in the mirror again, and cringed.

Cartman clocked in at just around 180 pounds these days, which he didn't feel too bad about, honestly, considering his height of 5'8". Even so, Cartman wasn't stupid. He'd never gotten much attention from girls at school, and whether that was because of his looks or his attitude, the message that he was undesirable had still gotten through loud and clear. Along with puberty had come a feeling of awkwardness in his own body that persisted throughout most hours of the day. Not to mention the fact that his closest friends consisted of Butters and Kenny, both considered relatively unpleasant by most females at Park County High. None of this was very reassuring. And so Cartman had come to the not-unreasonable conclusion that he was objectively unattractive.

"Honey!" Liane called excitedly from downstairs, making Cartman jump.

"_What_, Mom?" he called back.

"Oh, sweetie," she said, appearing at the top of the staircase as Cartman stuck his head out of the bathroom, "I found your old keyboard! It was underneath a box of your baseball gear from when you were just a little kid! Look at this cute little hat I found." She bounced over and happily placed the baseball cap, which no longer fit, on top of Cartman's head. Cartman grimaced.

"Mom, seriously? I literally just finished combing my hair."

"Oh, I'm sorry baby. I just knew you'd look so sweet in it, I couldn't help myself." Liane smiled pleasantly. Cartman took off the hat and shoved it back at his mother, who took it graciously. He pulled back into the bathroom to fuss over his appearance in the mirror once again.

"Are you going somewhere special, sweetheart?" Liane asked, sneaking into the bathroom behind him and placing her hands on his shoulders. Cartman snuck a look at her in the mirror, her soft face agreeable as always, and scoffed. The spawn of a teenage beauty queen and a professional football player and he still looked like this. Talk about bad luck.

"Nowhere, Mom," Cartman grumbled, pulling away from her. "Over to Kyle's house. I'm teaching his little brother piano."

"Oh!" Liane exclaimed. "I'm so glad you're going to see Kyle again. Remember when you were younger, and it was _always _Kyle this and Kyle that. You should've told me." She reached over and started playing with Cartman's hair, arranging it this way and that. "I would've baked some cookies for you to bring over, so you could make an even better impression."

"I don't care about making a good impression, I just wanna get paid," Cartman snapped. "And the keyboard is useless now anyway, I just ended up practicing with the old piano at the high school."

"Well, maybe you can use it for practice next time."

"I doubt it even works." Cartman pouted.

Liane gave him a small kiss on the cheek and hugged him tightly.

"Well, either way, it can't hurt to try." Liane's phone alarm went off, and she sighed. "I've got to get to work. Are you all set for dinner?"

"Do we still have any frozen dinners left?"

"Yep."

"Then I'm cool."

"Okay. See you later, baby."

She hugged him one more time and left to grab her coat and car keys. Cartman breathed a sigh of relief. Taking another look in the mirror, he realized his hair was now perfectly in place. He almost shouted a thank you to his mother, but heard the front door slam shut. Then he smirked at himself in the mirror and briefly struck a pose that showed off his good side. Like he was going to show up at Kyle's house for the first time in god knows how long looking anything but his best.

Cartman frowned. Not that he cared what Kyle's impression of him was, of course. The Jew probably didn't know handsome when he saw it, anyways.

It was just the principle of the thing, really.

xxxxxxxx

Cartman stood in the Broflovski's hallway, hands held behind his back, trying desperately not to mess with his hair. His scalp itched. He'd been standing there for at least five minutes at this point. Mrs. Broflovski was fretting over something in the kitchen (Cartman swore he could _hear _her waddling) and had been the one to let him into the house, but he hadn't seen heads or tails of Kyle since he got there. Well, besides in the portraits that absolutely covered the walls of this place. Cartman snickered to himself after finding a particularly embarrassing photo of Kyle from middle school, with Jew-fro in full force. It was practically busting out of the frame.

"Eric, dear," Mrs. Broflovski called. "Kyle's bringing Ike home, I'm sure they'll be here any second. You can make your way to the living room, we've got his keyboard set up for you already!"

"Sure thing, Mrs. Broflovski," Cartman called back cheerfully, then muttered "Whatever, bitch," under his breath. Sticking his hands in his pockets, Cartman trudged to the living room. He stood in the doorway for a second, surprised at how similar it was to the last time he'd been here. When was that, four, five years ago? He hadn't intentionally stopped visiting. It was just the way it turned out.

Around middle school, the core four had just lost touch. Kyle's Jew-fro, true to the hallway photo, was sincerely a force to be reckoned with, and Kyle himself had become twice as volatile and hard to handle. A particularly gruesome fight between him and Cartman had resulted in both their parents deciding to separate them for at least some time. Rumor had it that the school had requested that Kyle, the instigator, attend anger management sessions.

Cartman walked over to the keyboard, set up off to the side of the room with two small stools behind it. He took a seat, sitting stiffly as he heard the stool creak under his weight. Tentatively, he settled his hands on the keys, pressing a few here and there, then switched it on and played a scale.

"Not bad."

Cartman nearly jumped out of his skin. Catching his breath, he looked up to see Kyle's lanky frame leaning in the doorway.

"Jesus Christ, what did you do, fucking tiptoe over here? Trying to scare the shit out of me?"

"You got me." Kyle rolled his eyes. He stood and walked to the empty stool beside Cartman, taking a seat. Cartman's heart quickened, and his eyes narrowed. What was the Jew's angle?

"Can't believe you actually took the job," Kyle said. He pressed absentmindedly on a few keys and fixed Cartman with a wry smile. Cartman blinked and jerked his own gaze back to the keyboard.

"Yeah, well. Jews giving away their money, you know. Had to see it to believe it."

"Oh, shut up." Kyle made a disgusted noise and shook his head slightly. "Anyway. Ike's upstairs. He'll be down in a sec. I just wanted to ask you if, so." He cleared his throat and leaned closer to Cartman secretively. "Maybe you could, uh, sell me some. Weed."

Cartman laughed lightly. Something about how serious Kyle was asking it, combined with his proximity.

"What's so funny?" Kyle said defensively. His brow furrowed.

"The straight-laced _Kyle_ wants to buy _marijuana_?" Cartman said, giving Kyle a sly grin. "It's not just funny, it's _hilarious._ You bad boy, you."

"Dude, shut up." Kyle gave a still-laughing Cartman a shove. "Seriously though. It doesn't have to be that much."

"Why so desperate for dope, Jew?" Cartman said sweetly. "Resorting to drugs to deal with the oh-so difficult life you're living?"

"Wow," Kyle said, gritting his teeth. "I almost forgot how much of a total asshole you can be."

"Whatever. You want the weed or not?"

Kyle perked up.

"You'll sell it to me, then?"

"Yeah, sure," Cartman said. "I'll get back to you with the details." He waved his hand at Kyle in a shoo-ing motion. "Now get. You don't want your baby brother to see you soliciting illegal substances, now do we?"

Kyle made another face, obviously reluctant to do anything Cartman told him to. Nonetheless, he recognized that Cartman was right, and hearing Ike's footsteps on the stairs, Kyle stood and did an embarrassing quick-jog out of the living room. Cartman laughed to himself and swore he heard a frustrated groan in response.

Ike appeared in the doorway, carrying a small stack of piano books. He raised an eyebrow.

"What's with the goofy smile?"

* * *

**A/N: I like this Cartman. As Cartman gets older I always imagine he becomes a lot more self-deprecating. Thanks for reading. Let me know what you thought.**


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